The Deadliest Moop

“Oh, you mean my competing with my dog.” Alex gave a short, high-pitched laugh. “Yeah, I know. But it’s a comfort that Wegener can’t prevent quakes—considering that he predicts them a lot better than I do.”

“One might wonder,” said Takeo, “if it can truly be called prediction.” He sounded bored with the discussion. “Perhaps the dog, through his paws, is just very sensitive to vibrations—and can feel them before humans are able to.”

“My dog has detected quakes even when I’ve been sitting at a bank of seismographs, tiltmeters, low-frequency vibration sensors, strain meters, and ultrasonic detectors. I found nothing while he sensed a quake.”

“Indeed,” said Takeo, skepticism clear in his voice.

“I don’t understand it, either,” said Alex. “But it’s not vibrations. It’s… it’s something else.”

Takeo’s lips formed a cold smile. “One might entertain doubts as to whether there is anything else.”

“Look,” said Alex, with more heat than he’d intended. “Everything we know about in the physical world is just an amplification of the human senses. And pigeon and shark senses, too, if we include static electromagnetic fields.”

“The strong nuclear force?” said Takeo.

“All right,” said Alex. “Make that everything we know about the macro world. What if there are other phenomena that we don’t have senses for?”

“Such as ESP,” said Takeo. “Pseudoscience?”

“Sure. Why not?” Alex threw up his hands. “Precognition violates causality. Telekinesis violates conservation of energy. But perhaps telepathy does exist. It doesn’t violate any law of physics.”

“But telepathy wouldn’t explain predicting earthquakes,” said Katerina, her eyes more on Takeo than on Alex.

“Maybe some creatures can detect other physical phenomena,” said Alex.

Katerina gave a quick, furtive smile.

“Physical,” said Takeo. “What physical phenomenon is it, then? If there is another sense, it must be addressable by physics.” He smiled. “It is regrettable, but ghosts and spirits don’t come under science.”

From the corner of his eye, Alex noted Katerina scowling at Takeo. Clearly there was some negative chemistry between them.

“My dog does predict earthquakes,” said Alex, firmly.

“One suggests it is otherwise,” said Takeo, equally firmly. “And why then cannot all dogs predict quakes?”

“I wondered about that myself.” Alex paused, feeling exposed and foolish, before daring to tell them his speculation. “I got Wegener from a German Shepherd rescue organization. He was a drug-sniffing dog put out of work by the new electronic noses.”

“But one does not understand what relevance this has to—”

“During his training, Wegener probably had to sniff a lot of drugs.”

Takeo laughed. “Is it suggested that your dog acquired this alleged earthquake ability during a drug high?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not an expert on canine brain chemistry.”

“Ridiculous,” said Takeo under his breath.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Then Katerina said, “I didn’t think we were in danger of quakes here in Illinois.”

“Actually,” said Alex, “this part of the country is the second most active for quakes. In fact, Batavia sits over an extension of the New Madrid Fault.”

“Seismology sounds like a very interesting and satisfying discipline,” said Takeo in a tone of voice suggesting an apology for his previous discourtesy.

Alex nodded. He hoped Takeo would interpret it as “apology accepted.”

They walked again in silence until, out of the blue, Katerina asked, “What’s your dog’s howl duty cycle?”

“His what?”

“I mean, what percent of his howls—howls for unknown reasons, that is. What percent actually…”—Katerina seemed to be carefully choosing her words—”actually correlate with earthquakes?”

“I don’t really know.” Alex glanced at Wegener. “But my dog can predict a Richter 3.0 or greater quake anywhere within five or six hundred miles.”

“Five hundred miles.” said Katerina. “Impressive.” She seemed momentarily distant. Then her expression changed to one of resolve. “Perhaps we could have lunch tomorrow. To talk about earthquakes—and your dog.”

“I’d like that,” said Alex. “And his name’s Wegener. Named after Alfred Wegener, the father of plate tectonics.” Alex patted the dog. “Du bist ein braver Hund,” he said softly into the dog’s ear.

“You speak to your dog in German?” said Katerina.

“He’s a German Shepherd.”

The next day, Alex, with Wegener running alongside, bicycled to the User’s Center where he’d meet Katerina for lunch. He swung off his bicycle, locked it, and then pulled his pants cuff free of his sock.

“Stay!” he said, pointing to Wegener.

Wegener howled.

“Stay!” said Alex again. As there was a perfectly understandable reason for the howl, there was no reason to log it. He looked absently at his dog. She wants to talk about earthquakes. And about you, Wegener. I wonder why.

He shrugged, then hand-brushed his hair, turned, and padded into the User’s Center.